


you are the piece of me (i wish i didn't need)

by daughterofrohan



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Spoilers, F/M, Gen, I Made Myself Cry, idk what this is i'm so sorry, pls don't hate me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 11:30:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3894721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daughterofrohan/pseuds/daughterofrohan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It feels like paying homage to everything they should have had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you are the piece of me (i wish i didn't need)

**Author's Note:**

> my hand slipped and this happened oops
> 
> (this is my attempt to come to terms with what happened in aou. it hurts a little more than it should have.)

When Clint brings her in, Fury wants her in custody. He doesn’t care if she’s not a danger, he says, and for that matter he’s still not convinced that she isn’t. He wants her locked up in a padded room where she can’t hurt anyone, including herself. He wants her subjected to psych eval after psych eval. He wants her interrogated until she spills all her secrets. He doesn’t trust her, despite the fact that she’s been the picture of innocence since she arrived on base and seems like she honestly, genuinely _wants_ to defect to SHIELD.

Clint knows she’s on edge, despite her calm demeanour. He can see it in the way her eyes are constantly flicking back and forth. He can see it in the way she twitches whenever anyone gets too close. He can see it in the way she zones out when she’s alone, staring off into space, her mind occupying another day, another time, another life.

He knows because he remembers, because three years ago it was him with the empty eyes, twitching at every sudden sound and movement. He knows that the last thing she needs is doctors and psychologists and questions, questions, questions. So when Fury tries to have her locked up like an animal, Clint takes two months leave and tells Fury that he’s taking Natasha with him. SHIELD’s pissed, but SHIELD will get over it. She needs him like no one’s ever needed him before, and it reminds him of what it means to care. So he takes her to the only place where he’s ever cared about anything or anyone.

Laura, to her credit, welcomes Natasha with open arms. She doesn’t understand and she doesn’t ask questions, but somehow she sees what nobody else at SHIELD was able to see. Instead of one of the world’s most deadly assassins, she sees a scared girl, a girl who’s never known love or warmth or compassion or a home. Clint tenses when Laura wraps her arms around Natasha, ready to jump to her defense if need be. But the small ex-KGB assassin just stands there awkwardly, stiffly, letting herself be embraced. “You stay as long as you need to,” Laura says softly, and Clint knows without a doubt that he made the right call.

 

* * *

 

Natasha doesn’t speak for an entire week. She wanders the house with a dazed look on her face, still twitching at every small noise. She doesn’t speak, but she watches, and her eyes speak volumes. Clint can see the emotional turmoil in her eyes when Laura hands her cups of tea in the morning, when Cooper picks wildflowers and carries them back to her proudly, when she watches the sun set over the trees in vivid shades of pink and yellow and orange. He knows that there’s a storm inside her, just under the surface. He also knows that there’s no use pushing her, knows that she’ll open up when she’s ready.

It happens one July night when the sky is clear of clouds and the stars are shining in that way they only ever do out in the country. Laura’s inside giving Cooper a bath and Natasha joins him out on the porch, dressed in one of Clint’s old ratty hoodies because she still doesn’t have any clothes of her own. A warm breeze ruffles the treetops and they sit there in silence until she finally opens her mouth and asks the question that’s been plaguing her for a week. “Why did you bring me here?”

“To protect you,” Clint says simply.

She fiddles with a hole in the sleeve of the hoodie she’s wearing. “Can you protect me from myself?”

Clint sighs deeply, looking up to the stars as if they hold the answer to her question. He knows she’s confused, knows she’s been through hell and back again in too few years, knows she’s never been shown kindness by someone who didn’t ask for anything in return. He knows because of the way she shrank away from him in the hotel room the night he didn’t kill her, the way she locked the door while she was showering, the way she stayed awake all night sitting in the chair in the corner and refused to come to bed despite his promises that he wouldn’t ever touch her without her permission.

“I owe you,” she says when he doesn’t speak.

“You don’t owe me shit, Natasha.”

“Why did you bring me here?” she asks again.

“Healing,” Laura says softly from behind them. “There’s no questions here. No expectations. You deserve a safe place, Natasha. After everything you’ve been though.”

“How do you know what I’ve been through?” she asks. She hasn’t spoken a single word to Laura since she got here a week ago.

“It’s in your eyes,” Laura says gently.

Natasha turns to Clint. “Is this your safe place?”

He nods. “It always has been. It’s yours now, too.”

“Why?” She doesn’t understand the kindness they’re showing her, kindness she’s done nothing to deserve. She’s a monster, a killer, and they’ve welcomed her into their home, treated her like family. Her throat tightens as she realizes that she has no way to repay them.

Clint looks at her with eyes that pierce through every wall she’s ever built up. “Because I know what it’s like to need a place where you don’t have to pretend.”

“We can’t stay forever,” he tells Laura that night. “You know that, right?”

“I’m not letting you take her back there before she’s ready, Clint.”

“She’s tough, Laura. She’ll be okay.”

“She’s just a kid!”

“A kid who’s seen and done more in her lifetime than you could ever imagine.”

“All the more reason to keep her away from it all.”

“You know I can’t do that, Laura. SHIELD will come looking eventually and I need to keep this safe house safe. I need to keep you safe.”

“I can take care of myself, Clint.”

“I know,” he says, smiling softly. “That’s one of the reasons I love you.”

Laura wraps her arms around his waist, leaning her head against his chest. “Stay a little longer.”

“I have two months leave,” Clint tells her. “That’s time.”

Natasha expects to feel angry, hearing them talk about her, but she doesn’t. They don’t talk about her like she’s a monster. They talk about her like she’s human, like she has wants and needs and feelings. She feels a wetness on her cheeks and realizes she’s crying. She goes to the bathroom and looks in the mirror, trying to see the child that Laura sees, trying to see the strength that Clint sees. All she sees is a monster. She slips back into bed and that’s where the tears fall hot and hard and she lets herself weep for everything she’s never had, for the life that she never knew was possible, but now that she knows, she wants it.

The sobs tear their way from her throat and she knows in the back of her mind that she should be silent but she can’t. The door opens behind her and she feels a hand between her shoulder blades and it’s the first time either of them has touched her, the first time anyone’s touched her in so long, and though she used to be disgusted by human contact, she finds herself craving it.

“Natasha.” Clint’s voice is gentle, understanding. “Natasha, hey.”

When she looks up at him, eyes red and swollen, he pulls her into his arms. She lets her tears soak into his shirt, lets his chest muffle her sobs. His arms around her are warm and strong and safe and they don’t ask for anything she’s not willing to give.

“Does it get easier?” she whispers, when she has no tears left to cry.

“A little bit,” he says, pulling the covers over top of her gently. “It helps if you find something to live for, something to get you through it all.”

“I can’t have what you have,” she tells him in a broken voice. “No one will ever be able to love me.”

“I can think of three people who already do.” He presses his lips to her forehead. “Get some sleep, Nat.” 

 

* * *

 

Bit by bit, she begins to open up. Piece by piece, she begins to let go. The first time they see her smile is the day Cooper’s running too fast down the driveway and falls, scraping the skin off of his left knee. He bursts into tears and Natasha, uneasy and timid Natasha, picks him up immediately and begins murmuring in Russian. His tears cease as he looks up at her curiously, trying to decipher the strange language. All of a sudden he begins to laugh. Natasha’s eyes go wide and she looks up to see Clint and Laura staring at her. The smile on her face is shy and tentative but her eyes are full of wonder.

The first time she laughs, Clint’s trying once again to teach Laura archery. She’s terrible at it, she always has been, but it never fails to amuse them how she fires arrow after arrow and never hits the target. Natasha stands to the side with an amused grin on her face that grows wider every time Laura misses. Finally, Laura hands the bow to her. “Let’s see you do better.”

“Ever shot a bow before, Romanoff?” Clint asks her.

“It can’t be that different from a gun,” she says, nocking an arrow. She hits the bulls-eye dead on. When she turns, Clint and Laura are both staring at her, wide-eyed. She can’t help it. She bursts into laughter. Their eyes go even wider as they hear the unfamiliar sound coming out of her mouth. “I was trained to kill at the age of seven, Barton,” she says, ignoring their surprise at the fact that she’s laughing, actually _laughing_. “Do you honestly think I’ve never touched a bow in my life?” 

 

* * *

 

When they leave the farm two months later, Natasha’s eyes aren’t nearly as full of the ghosts of her past and she smiles more easily. “I’ll miss you,” Laura says, hugging her tightly. “You’re always welcome here.”

“Thank you,” Natasha tells her sincerely. “For everything.”

“I guess you can come back too,” Laura says to Clint, wrapping her arms around his waist. “But in case you need an incentive…” she places a hand on her stomach, grinning up at him slyly.

“No,” he breathes, eyes wide.

“Yes.”

His answering smile could light up the entire world.

“Nat, I’m going to be a dad!” he tells her once they’re on the road and they’ve left Laura and the farm behind them.

“You’re already a dad, Clint.”

“I’m going to be a dad _again_ ,” he clarifies. “It never gets old. You’ll understand someday.”

She doesn’t answer, just turns to stare out the window and tries to ignore the prickling sensation in her eyes. She doesn’t want him to know how much it hurts, doesn’t want to have to tell him that no, she won’t understand, because she _can’t_ understand.

“Nat?” he asks her when she’s been too quiet for too long. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.”

He knows it’s not, but he lets it go. “Okay.” 

 

* * *

 

He brings her back to the farm after a mission in Abidjan goes horribly wrong and they need to go off the grid.  It’s one in the morning when he carries an unconscious Natasha through the front door, but Laura’s still awake, sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of tea in her hands, her pregnancy far more noticeable than the last time they were here. She jumps to her feet when she sees them come into the house, covered in blood and ashes. “Oh God, Clint-”

“It’s okay,” he cuts her off. “We’re okay.”

“Nat-”

“Lost a lot of blood. She needs to rest but she’ll be okay, Laura.”

“What happened?” Laura asks him in a hushed voice.

“We had gunfire coming in from all sides. She took a bullet for me. I never even saw it coming.”

“Thank you,” Laura whispers to the unconscious assassin, brushing her hair back from her forehead gently.

“You can thank her when she’s awake,” Clint says. “Help me get her to bed.”

Natasha opens her eyes to a familiar wood beamed ceiling. There’s a sharp pain in her stomach and a wave of nausea hits her when she tries to sit up. “Easy, punk,” comes Clint’s voice from beside her.

“Shut up.” She rolls her head to look at the clock on the bedside table. “It’s three in the morning, Barton. What are you doing here?”

“Keeping you alive is tough work, Romanoff.”

“Says you. I don’t see you stepping in front of any bullets.”

“Nat,” he says seriously.

“Clint I’m sorry, I-”

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me, Natasha.”

She looks down, fiddling with a loose thread in the crocheted afghan that covers her lap. “I want to.”

“Okay.”

She addresses the blanket as she speaks because she can’t look him in the eye. “You saved my life once. I saved yours. Now we’re even.”

“Is that what this is, Nat?” He slams a hand down on the bedside table, causing her to twitch. She winces at the pain that the small movement brings. “Is this your sick, twisted way of keeping score? You think you can step in front of a bullet for me, _throw your life away_ _for me_ , and that’s it? We’re even? That’s not how it works, Natasha.”

“Tell me how it works, then,” she says in a hollow voice.

“You don’t owe me anything. You never have.”

“Why?”

“ _Why?_ Why is it so hard for you to believe that someone cares about you?”

She doesn’t tell him the answer, but she doesn’t need to. He already knows. _Because no one’s ever cared before._ She thinks she can feel his hand around hers as she drifts back to sleep.

The chair beside her bed is empty when Natasha wakes again. She forces herself to sit, a small moan escaping her throat as the pain hits her like a wave. She forces herself to stand despite the dizziness in her head, and unsteadily makes her way to the kitchen.

“Nat!” Cooper exclaims, jumping up from his seat.

“Careful, honey,” Laura tells him, catching him before he can hurl himself at her. “Nat’s had a rough night.”

“What _happened?_ ”

Natasha glances at Laura, who shrugs one shoulder. “I got shot.”

Cooper’s eyes go wide. “Whoa. Can I see?”

She flashes an apologetic grin in Laura’s direction before lifting her shirt to reveal the large white bandage that covers the hole the bullet left in her. Cooper reaches out a small hand, brushing his fingers tentatively over the bandage. “Awesome.”

“Don’t let his praise get to your head, Nat,” Clint says, entering the kitchen.

Natasha makes a face at him as she lets the shirt fall. “At least someone thinks I’m cool. Let me have my moment, Barton.”

“ _Someone’s_ clearly never worked an undercover op with you. Coffee?”

“You read my mind.”

“How long are you staying?” Laura asks over breakfast.

Clint and Natasha share a look before Clint answers. “Not long.”

“Long enough to fix the hole in the roof?”

Clint smiles at her. “I’ll get it done.”

Later, when Clint’s on the roof, Laura comes and finds Natasha where she’s sitting outside, letting the sun warm her skin. “Clint says you took a bullet for him.” No answer. “Why did you do it, Natasha?”

She stares at her hands. “He has more to live for than I do.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is. You, the kids, he has more to lose than I do, Laura.” She waves her hands around her. “I can’t ever have this.”

Laura places a hand over her swelling stomach. “It’s a girl.”

“Congratulations,” Natasha says sincerely. It hurts more than she’s willing to admit.

“I’d like to name her after you.”

“Please don’t.” She can’t explain why, but she hates the idea of a child with her name. She hates the idea of a child, small and pure and uncorrupted by the world, being given something so tainted.

Laura nods like she understands. “Okay.” 

 

* * *

 

“Nat! Nat, wake up!”

Natasha rolls over in bed, confused. She’s still jet lagged from the flight to Istanbul and has no idea what time it’s supposed to be. “Clint? Everything alright?”

“Everything’s perfect,” he says, shoving his phone in front of her face so she can see the picture on the screen. “Lila Nicole Barton. Born this morning.”

“Oh, Clint.”

He laughs, tears shining in his eyes, and they embrace. Natasha cries too, when her face is buried in his shoulder and he can’t see, although her tears fall for an entirely different reason.

“Laura wants you to be the godmother,” Clint says, pulling back so he can see her face.

“I don’t…” she stammers. “Clint…I can’t...”

He laughs again. “It’s okay. You don’t need to do anything special. Just be in her life as much as you can.”

“Why?” It’s a question she feels like she shouldn’t be asking when they’re trusting her with something this big, but she can’t help herself.

Clint looks at her seriously. “You’re part of the family, Nat.”

Tears spill over again and this time she lets him see. “I never had a family.”

“You do now.” He hugs her tightly, pressing his lips to the top of her head. “You do now.”

She closes her eyes and presses her face into his chest and tries to let it be enough, but she wants more. She wants something she can’t ever ask him for. She wonders if he would give it to her, if she asked. She’s not sure she wants to know the answer. 

 

* * *

 

The first time Natasha kisses him, she apologizes. They’re on the run in Beijing and she sees a familiar face in the crowd. She pulls Clint’s head towards her without even thinking about it, pressing her lips to his. His hands jump to her waist instinctively, pulling her closer. She’s done this hundreds of times before, with hundreds of people, but it’s never felt like this, like her whole body is on fire.

She kisses him for longer than she has to because it might be the only chance she ever gets. “Sorry,” she whispers when she finally pulls away, trying to hide the fact that she’s breathless.

His hands don’t move from her waist. “Are we clear?”

“I…” she glances around, flustered, trying to avoid Clint’s gaze. She doesn’t understand why this is happening to her. She never gets like this, never has a problem separating herself from her feelings during a job.

He takes her head in his hands, forcing her to look at him. “Natasha. Are we clear?”

It takes everything she has to school her features into a neutral expression and nod once, sharply. “We’re clear.”

“I’m sorry,” she tells him again when they’re back in the hotel. He has his shirt off and his back to her, examining a cut across his ribs. She sighs deeply when he doesn’t answer, ripping off her sweaty shirt and pulling out one of his old tattered hoodies she’s had since he first brought her in to SHIELD. She’s about to head for the shower when his voice behind her stops her in her tracks.

“Natasha.”

She turns, silent.

“Why do you think you have to apologize to me?”

“I kissed you.”

“I’m sure that’s not the worst thing you’ve done for a job.”

“It’s different, Clint.” She gestures towards him hopelessly. “You’re…you and you’re _married_ and I shouldn’t be thinking about you in that way but-”

“Do you?” he interrupts her quietly.

“Please don’t ask me that question,” she whispers.

He nods. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry,” she says again.

“I’m not.”

 

* * *

 

 _Barton’s been compromised._ She’d stepped in front of a bullet for him once. She’d do it again in a heartbeat.

 _“Hello?”_ The voice on the other end of the phone sounds rough from sleep and Natasha realizes she doesn’t know what time it is in Iowa.

“Get off the grid, Laura. Take the kids and go. Don’t tell me where you’re going. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going.”

_“Nat, what’s-“_

“I can’t tell you anything. I’m sorry. Call me at this number so I know you’re safe.”

_“If I don’t call…”_

“If you don’t call, it’ll be because you _can’t_ call.”

_“I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Stay safe, Nat.”_

“You too.” 

 

* * *

 

“I told him everything, Nat.” Clint sounds defeated, and Natasha doesn’t blame him. He’s physically and emotionally wrecked and he’s spent the past few days fighting for control of his own mind. He has bags under his eyes that make him look like he hasn’t slept in a week and he’s pale and shaking. “The farm, Laura, the kids, they’re not safe anymore.”

“I told her to get out. All we can do is hope that she had enough time.” She pulls the burner phone out of the pocket of her suit, slipping it into Clint’s hand. “If she calls, you’ll know.”

She doesn’t call. It’s three days before Clint stops clinging to the phone like a lifeline. It’s a week before he finally breaks down, sobs shaking his entire body. Natasha shatters alongside him and they hold each other and cry until exhaustion finally claims them and they fall asleep in each other’s arms.

“I want to go back to the farm,” he tells her one day, when they’re halfway through their SHIELD-issued leave.

“Clint…”

“I need to see it, Nat.”

“Okay. But you’re not going alone.”

He buries his face in her hair. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

It’s eerily quiet as the car rolls up the long driveway. The farm looks the same as it always has before, but they both know that the real damage isn’t visible. The damage lies inside them, confusion and shattered hearts and undefined lines in their own relationship and the unspoken question that’s been lying heavily between them since the events of New York. _Where do we go now?_

Impulsively, Natasha reaches over and takes Clint’s hand. He squeezes her fingers tightly and she glances up at him, offering him a sad smile.

The door, unlocked as ever, swings open easily. The inside of the house is untouched, as if everyone inside simply vanished. “Where?” Clint whispers, as if the walls themselves guard the secret. “Where did you go, Laura?”

Natasha’s fingertips on his shoulder ground him. “Is there a chance she could be out there somewhere?”

He shakes his head sadly as he heads to the bedroom he and Laura used to share. “She would have called.”

Natasha makes for the spare bedroom, the one usually reserved for her visits, but Clint stops her with a hand on her wrist. “Stay with me tonight. Please.” She follows him silently, not asking for an explanation. Maybe there is none, maybe he just doesn’t want to be alone.

They’ve shared beds on missions before. They’ve shared body heat in the Siberian mid-winter, slept on top of each other in narrow hotel beds, even showered together when their injuries have been so bad that they need help to even stand. Still, Natasha can’t help but feel like a traitor as she slides into a bed that used to be Laura’s because they’re not on a mission and they have no reason to be sleeping next to each other but they are. Clint lies on his side and she mimics his position so that they’re facing each other, mere inches of space the only thing separating her body from his.

“I feel lost,” he tells her.

“I always feel lost,” she replies.

He laughs softly. “Look at us. The worst out of all of them and we’re the only ones left.”

“Isn’t that how it always works? Only the good die young.”

“Kiss me.”

She shouldn’t. She should dismiss it as grief and keep her distance, but the pent-up bitterness of years spent loving someone she can never have comes crashing down around her, and so she does.

“Are you going to regret this tomorrow morning?” She breathes the words against his lips like a prayer.

“Maybe.”

It feels like paying homage to everything they should have had. Every touch is _what if?_ When she lets her tears spill into his chest afterwards he doesn’t comment, just holds her a little tighter as she cries herself to sleep in his arms.

Natasha wakes up to an empty bed the next morning. Pulling a blanket around her shoulders, she makes her way to the porch where Clint is sitting with two empty bottles beside him, a third in his hand. She grabs it from him, taking a swig before passing it back. “I’m-”

“Don’t apologize,” he says, cutting her off. “Because I’m not sorry, Natasha. I don’t regret anything that happened last night. Do you?”

“No.” She whispers it like it’s her last secret.

He loops an arm around her waist as he drains the last of his beer and she rests her head on his shoulder and they sit there in a silence that’s weighed down with the things they’ll never say.

“What do we do now?” she asks him finally.

“Go back to SHIELD, I guess. There’s nothing left for us here anymore.” 

 

* * *

 

“I blew all my covers,” she tells Steve. “I need to find a new one.” It’s a lie on both counts because she finds herself going back to the beginning, back to the first place where she was a person and not just a cover.

There’s smoke coming from the chimney when she finally pulls up to the old familiar house at dusk. She should have figured that he’d be here too. It’s the only safe house left that’s truly safe, now that she’s screamed all of SHIELD’s secrets from the rooftops.

“Nat,” he breathes, staring wide-eyed at her as she walks through the door.

“You know, you really need to get that lock figured out.”

He crushes her to him, so tightly that it’s almost painful. She can hear his ragged breathing in her ear and she finally lets herself be weak. “You okay?” he asks her as she leans into him heavily. She shakes her head because she doesn’t trust herself to speak, and he pulls back, looking at her clinically. “What’s the damage?”

“Shot,” she manages. “Left shoulder.” She neglects to mention the emotional damage that’s hit her harder than a bullet ever will.

He wraps an arm around her waist. “Let’s get you inside.” He raises his voice as he calls into the kitchen. “Laura, can you grab the first aid kit?”

 _Laura_. Her knees go weak and she leans further into Clint. “Whoa,” he says, slipping his other arm under her knees and lifting her, cradling her against his chest as he carries her through the kitchen. She wants to cry.

“Oh God, Nat!” Laura exclaims when she sees her.

“I’m fine,” she protests weakly, but Clint doesn’t listen, setting her down in bed before he gently peels off her jacket to look at her shoulder. “SHIELD took care of it, Clint, I’m okay.”

“Well excuse me for caring about you enough to make sure they did a decent job.”

It feels like a punch to the gut. “Don’t say that.”

“Say what?”

“You know what.”

He leans in, presses his lips to her forehead. “Get some sleep, Nat.”

She waits until he’s gone before she lets her tears spill over and falls into a fitful sleep as her body shakes with silent sobs.

She wakes far too early in the morning and makes her way to the porch, still dressed in her clothes from the night before. He’s sitting there on the swing, almost as if he’s waiting for her. In another world, another life, she’d believe that maybe he was. “How long have you known?” she asks as she sits down beside him.

“Since I got here. About two weeks ago, now.”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“If I told you, you never would have come back.”

“With good reason, Clint!”

“I can’t lose you, Natasha. Not now.”

She stares at her hands. “Losing me implies that you had me. That there was something between us.”

“Wasn’t there?”

Natasha wraps her arms across her chest, trying to hide the fact that she’s cold in the early morning chill dressed in only a tank top, but he notices. Of course he notices. His arm around her shoulders is warm and steady and she leans into him, breathing him in, taking the comfort she doesn’t deserve.

“You made the right choice, Clint. But you don’t get to keep me. I’m my own person.”

“I know that. I’ve always known that.”

“Do you know that I love you?” It’s too little, too late. But saying the words feels like letting go.

“Yeah, Nat. I know.”

They sit in silence as the sun rises. Laura’s awake and making breakfast when Natasha goes back inside, leaving Clint alone on the porch. She pulls Natasha into an embrace and a lump forms in Natasha’s throat as she’s reminded of the first time she met Laura, how she was violent and rough around the edges and Laura looked past all of that and saw a girl who just needed to be loved. Time has made them all hard, but not Laura. Laura is soft, gentle, constant.

“You love him.” Laura’s voice is quiet, understanding.

There’s nothing to be gained from denial. “Yeah.” Admitting it is a weight off of her chest and she breathes, maybe not perfectly, but easier than before.

“He loves you, too.”

“Not in that way. He needs something in his life that isn’t broken. You two have a home, a family. I can’t ever give that to him, to anyone.”

“I’m pregnant again.” It almost sounds like a question.

Natasha’s smile is tinged with sadness, but it’s real. “That’s amazing.”

“Can we name this one after you?”

The rest of the weight comes off of her chest and the first breath of air feels like dying and coming back to life. “I’d like that.” 

 

* * *

 

The farm is healing. She tries to put the Red Room vision out of her mind and focus on the sun, the air, the sky. She remembers the countless times she’s come here broken and left whole. It still hurts to be here sometimes, but she endures the pain for the moments in between; Cooper asking her to teach him how to shoot and Lila painting her pictures of butterflies and Laura, pregnant and glowing, treating her like a sister. _They’re your family too_ , Clint had told her once, and she knows that they are.

He finds her in the kitchen during another sleepless night and she mentally steels herself for the conversation that’s coming.

“What are you doing, Nat?”

“Making coffee,” she says innocently. “Want some?”

“With Banner,” he clarifies. “What are you doing with Banner?”

It’s like he’s punctured something because she deflates right there in front of him and he can see her face crumple, can see the pain she carries with her daily. “Trying to get over you,” she whispers.

“Do you love him?”

“Clint-”

“Natasha, do you love him?”

She exhales deeply. “No.”

He takes two mugs from the cupboard, passing them over to her. “Then what are you doing?”

“Trying to control something,” she says, abandoning all pretenses.

“Do you really think that’s fair? To either of you?”

“Maybe I could love him. One day.”

Clint catches her hand in his, pulling her towards him, hugging her briefly but tightly. “I want you to be happy, Natasha.”

“I know,” she whispers into his chest. “Thank you.”

A figure comes around the corner and they break apart. “Sorry,” Bruce says awkwardly as the moonlight streaming through the window illuminates his face.

“It’s okay.” Natasha’s voice is soft. “Couldn’t sleep?” He shakes his head wordlessly. She passes him a mug. “We both know what that feels like.”

“Thanks,” he says, accepting the coffee and gesturing to the doorway. “Sorry to bother you. I’ll just-”

“Stay,” Natasha interrupts.

Bruce looks from her to Clint, a question in his eyes. Clint shrugs one shoulder as if to say ‘your call’. Bruce looks back to Natasha and Clint’s aware, for the first time, of the way he looks at her, like his black and white world has suddenly been plunged into colour. He recognizes the look because it’s the same way Natasha used to look at him before her eyes were so full of sadness.

Bruce slides into a seat at the scrubbed wood table, staring into the bottom of his mug as he asks, “Does it get easier?”

Natasha’s lips quirk up in a small, sad smile as she repeats the words Clint said to her back when he first brought her here what feels like a lifetime ago. “It helps if you find something to live for.”

**Author's Note:**

> if you don't hate me too much you can come say hi on [tumblr](http://natrasharomanova.tumblr.com)


End file.
